In Service Of The King (Book 2) (8 page)

With the help of the thin prisoners, he fought off the workers and tipped the next cauldron over like the first, running away from the work structure. Hot, smoking metal swirled around under the open building and around it. The workers lost interest in finding their quarry; some fled the structure, others crowded the ramps to escape. Flames roared up the bottom columns and first level of the great structure, rising at a breathtaking speed. What men were not caught in the structure were hemmed in by the smoking pools of liquid metal under it.

His back to a pile of ore, Joseph motioned for Jensen and his fellows to move behind him. Stepping in front of them, he faced what guards and workers had escaped the fire. The raging fires ahead reflected in his eyes as his fingers gripped the handle of the gold-spattered hammer.

AT THE base of the winding staircase the gatekeeper fell to his knees, exhausted. Tyrus grabbed the man’s tunic and dragged him to his feet.

Hezekiah stepped up to the wooden door and knocked. When the door cracked open, Hezekiah and Dunner threw themselves against it, knocking the cloaked servant back. As the Shamar entered the room, the servant picked himself off the floor and fled towards the passage and cavern entrance. Whether it was fear or adrenaline, the man manaed ot open one of the doors just enough to get through.

Tyrus looked around, still holding onto the gatekeeper.

“Let me go!” The grizzled man quaked in fear. “I can’t go in there... he’ll kill me!” Dunner unsheathed his scimitar and took the gatekeeper by his shirt.

“You can stay here, if you like,” he said, brandishing the curved weapon. The gatekeeper said no more.

All three Shamar looked around the dim room, walking slowly past the white attar of water. Smoke began ot curl throughthe door at the far end. Smelling it, the men rushed forward, through the small passage and up to the great doors. It took both Tyrus and Hezekiah to draw back on the partially-open door. Dunner pulled the blubbering gatekeeper along after them.

A horrific scene greeted them on the other side of the door. A raging fire lit up the entire center of the cavern.Swirls of what appeared to be hardening gold lay on the uneven floor amid piles of broken rock. A dozen men ran around, trying to put out the blaze; a thick blanket of smoke descended from the cavern roof.

Looking around, Hezekiah started. He slowly took out his blade, his shoulders stiff. A few yards in front of them, a half-naked man leapt and yelled. Covered in gray paint he screeched and stamped as if in a rage, his bare feet pounding the rock floor, his wild hair sticking up like feathers. Dunner likewise stared at the figure; he readied his sword, not letting go the gatekeeper.

Suddenly, the screeching figure stopped still. He turned his head, staring with one eye at the newcomers. Dunner glared back at him. In a flash, the gray figure reached out towards them. He had no weapon, but the giant stone door behind the Shamar shifted and then slammed shut. It closed with a force great enough to embed itself in the rock frame, sending cracks towards the ceiling. The noise resounded in the chamber, mixing with the flames and cries coming from the structure.

The cloaked servant ran up to the wild man, speaking to him in some strange language; he appeared to be pleading with him. Pulling back one hand, the painted figure hit the servant on the shoulder; the man flew back as if struck by lightning. He landed several yards away and did not move again. Keeping his eyes fixed on his prey, the wild man crouched slowly to the ground. With a catlike spring he flipped over backward and landed on his feet. He stood up and let out a shrill, unnerving laugh that echoed on the rock walls.

Hezekiah took an involuntary step backward. The gatekeeper slithered to the floor, unconscious. Dunner let the prisoner fall, not taking his eyes off the madman before them. Drawing a long dagger from his belt, Tyrus held it at the ready, a hard look in his gray eyes.

“What in the blue-blazes is that?” Dunner demanded.

“I have heard of these,” Hezekiah replied, somewhat recovered. “It appears to be a high priest of Zo. I’ve never seen one before

“Never has one dared step foot on Kingdom land, before,” Tyrus corrected.

“Seen or unseen,” Dunner growled, turning over his shiny scimitar.

“Joseph!” Hezekiah called out, pointing towards the structure.

Tyrus and Dunner looked as well, squinting to see through the smoky air. Hezekiah was not deceived; Joseph indeed stood near the outskirts of the fire--about fifty feet away--fending off a handful of shirtless prisoners wlith a long hammer. A few, skinny men crouched behind the young Shamar, as if he were protecting them.

“Joseph Asher!” Dunner bawled out; the sea-captain’s voice cut through the chaotic noise like canonfire through a storm. At his name, Joseph looked over and saw the three familiar figures, standing by the entrance gate. Relief swept over his features. With renewd vigor he made short work of the remaining attackers.

Gathering Jensen and the others, he looked towards the main entrance again. Only then did he see the painted figure standing still and looking at his fellow Shamar.

“Find the escape shaft you spoke of,” he told Jensen and his fellows. “I will follow after you. Quickly!” Jensen grabbed Joseph’s arm.

“It begins somewhere in the Bishop’s quarters,” he said, pointing to a shadowy part of the cavern, not far from the main entrance. “Through the door in the wall... we will pray you safely find us!” Joseph nodded at him before turning away.

Running around the pools of molten gold and over piles of ore, he halted some twenty feet from the painted-figure.

The priest of Zo stood barring his way to Tyrus and the others. He snapped his head sideways, glaring directly at Joseph. Tyrus gripped his dagger closely, taking a step toward the figure. Joseph saw his action and kept the madman’s gaze. The surviving workers gathered on the right of the wild priest, glaring angrily at the Shamar.

“I am Muuth,” the priest announced; his voice seemed to shake the ground, like the sound of many horses running through a ravine. “You,” he pointed at Joseph, “will be first to die.”

“The Lord rebuke you!” the young lord yelled back, his feet planted firmly on the rock floor.

With a dreadful scream, the priest covered his ears with his painted hands; he stamped the rock floor madly with his bare feet. As suddenly as he began, he stopped, his gaze again on Joseph. He outstretched his hands towards him, a horrible smile on his gray face.

A deep cracking sound rang out, overhead. All faces turned upward in time to witness a huge bolder fall through the smoke and crash onto a corner of the burning structure. Deflected, the boulder fell back, squarely onto the high priest of Zo, crushing him into dust. The noise was deafening. Teetering off balance, the blazing structure fell onto the slaves of the madman.

“These doors are sealed!” Tyrus shouted, glancing apprehensively toward the cavern ceiling. “We’re not getting back out the way we came!”

“Come with me!” Joseph called, racing around the boulder. In spite of the smoke, he could see the corner where Jensen had pointed. “There is another shaft. Quickly!”

True to the workman’s word, the group found an open wooden door embedded in the rock, with a strange symbol carved in it. Leading the way through, Joseph grabbed a torch from the wall. A narrow staricase beyond led them upward. The Shamar climbed one after the other, until they met another wooden door. The room beyond was made of cut stone, finely furnished with delicate tables and chairs, dozens of lit candles in gold holders and rich carpets; tapestries hung on the walls and a large, elaborate bed nearly covered one wall. Joseph spied a door across the room and walked towards it; the door had crimson designs painted on it.

A thin man stood up from behind a chair. Jensen smiled as he recognized Joseph; his fellow workmen stood as well.

“We feared you were dead,” Jensen said. “This must be the door to the shaft; there are no others in the chambers.”

“Hurry through it, the smoke is fast on our heels,” Joseph told him.

About to take hold of the door handle, a peculiar sight arrested Joseph’s eye; against the wall by the Bishop’s bed stood a high table covered in a heavily embroidered cloth. A silken money bag stood on it, and some scrolls, along with four unusually shaped spectacles, the type he’d seen wealthy men hold up to one eye when reading.

“Take those!” Jensen said, excitedly, pointing at the table. “The Bishop regards them very highly! We make those spectacles, here in the cavern.” Without a word Joseph swept up the corners of the cloth and put it over his shoulder, like a bag. As he turned to address the men, he saw smoke curling up under the chamber door.

“Make haste!” Joseph told them, opening the painted door.

The door led to a long, dark passageway. Hurrying along it, the men followed Joseph. They ran until Jensen and his fellows had to rest; Tyrus urged them to move onward before the smoke overcame them. The men moved ahead valiantly, despite their fatigue. Several minutes later, the passage turned sharply to the right; rounding the corner, to their dismay, the passage became three separate tunnels.

“Which way do we go?” Jensen asked, looking up at Joseph. “I have not heard of this place.” Joseph glanced back; fingers of smoke swirled after them, curling around the heads of the men with him.

“Stand aside,” he ordered, stepping back against the rock wall. The others did the same, bewildered. One, long tendril of smoke drifted past them, only to be caught by some unseen force, disappearing into the furthest tunnel. Joseph pointed to it. “That way,” he said, stepping after the smoke. The group ran along the corridor, their candles and torches flickering with the movement, until they came to a winding staircase cut out of the rock.

“Hurry!” Joseph ordered, pointing up the stair; the smoke drifted thicker about them.

“We’ll follow you!” Jensen said, holding up a candle. As Joseph moved swiftly up the stair, Hezekiah and Dunner helped the weary workers catch up. They climbed the twisting stair with a desperate energy.Smoke billowed up the steps after them.

The stair ended at a small, stone chamber. Stumbling into the room, the fleeing group stoodstill, trying to catch their breath. Only a small staircase--heading upward--could be seen, one that ended at the low, stone ceiling.

“What kind of escape shaft is this?!” Dunner said wrathfully. Hezekiah coughed, and then tilted his head to one side.

“Quiet,” he said, motioning for the others to be silent. “Do you hear singing?”

Listening, they could hear sounds like faraway voices lifted in song.

“That sounds like a hymn… from midnight services!” Hezekiah whispered, incredulously. He began climbing up the short staircase; reaching the stone ceiling, he laid his ear against it. “It is!” he said. “There must be a cathedral right above us.” Joseph crept up next to him, inspecting the rock ceiling with his torch.

“There are seams here,” he said. “Help me push.” He gave the torch to Dunner and began trying to push the rock up. It did not budge. The smoke had almost filled the small chamber completely; Jensen and his fellows were grouped by Tyrus’ feet, coughing. They heard a voice above the rock being to speak as the singing ended, though muffled somewhat.

“My good parishioners, your giving at tonight’s service will be like the smoke of a thousand fires rising to the Heavens. Let not the black devils whisper in your ear to stop you from generosity! Come! Give!”

In the vast nave of the cathedral, a bishop stood at the altar, gesturing to the crowd; the audience gasped; smoke was rising from around the altar. The bishop turned his face a mask of bewilderment. Below, the smoke was unbearable and too thick to see; Joseph felt around the rock above him; his hand caught on a handle, cut into the rock. He pulled on it with all his might. The rock above them began to slide to one side.

“It’s opening!” Joseph called down. “Get the prisoners up through first!”

Above, the Bishop’s bewilderment turned to astonishment as the smoking alter slowly moved to one side and smoke began billowing out in a great, black cloud. The Bishop took a few steps back, staring at the hole in the floor. Several thin men with unkempt beards, covered in black soot struggled up through the opening, gasping for air. Several audience members stood and began making their way hastily out of the cathedral.

Tyrus, Joseph, Hezekiah and Dunner--blackened from head to toe--crawled out of the hole. They stood around the edge, helping their charges to stand. The Bishop stared at them in horror. Joseph turned to the man in crimson and smiled; his white teeth showed brightly in his soot-blackened face.

“Carry on, my good priest,” Joseph told him, stepping down from the dais. He helped Jensen to walk down the aisle, past the awestruck presitly attendents, gaping parishioners in the pews and out into the elaborate foyer.

The Bishop recovered sufficiently to point after the blackened figures as they hurried away.

“They are devils! From the fiery pits of...”

His rant was interrupted by a deep growl, coming from the opening in the floor behind him. Eyes wide, the Bishop turned to see a large, black beast struggle up through the floor. The lion staggered out of the pit, roared at the audience and fell over with exhaustion. Women screamed and held their children up, as they all struggled to get out of the cathedral. The bishop fainted on the spot while his aides ran for their lives.

Opening the entrance door Joseph ushered Jensen and his fellows through, followed by Hezekiah, Dunner. Tyrus came last. He shut the door behind him. The group stood under the night sky in the fresh, cool air, resting and breathing deeply.

“I never thought air could smell so good,” Jensen said at last. Joseph nodded.

“That it does.”

“Sea air smells better, friend,” Dunner remarked, lighting his pipe.

SIX

On the outskirts of the great city of Fehale--some distance from the cathedral--Fehale Monastery welcomed eight weary, sooty travelers into the safety of its walls. The brothers there gave the men rooms, food and use of the baths. Messages were sent by rider, out to all Shamar within half-a-day’s ride, calling them a gathering at the monastery.